Promises (2 page)

Was Jason still alive?
 

She sniffled and cleared her throat.
 
No, she had no right to blame Travis for her brother’s disappearance.
 
Jason’s chosen profession caused all their troubles.
 
A profession that had nearly gotten Travis killed, by the looks of things.
 
Her hatred for their work was growing faster than Jack’s beanstalk with its wiry tendrils rapidly choking her heart.
 

Swiping away an errant tear, she went to the kitchen to call the doctor.
 
She quickly looked up his number then snatched the phone from the wall.
 
Twisting and twining the cord around her trembling fingers, she dialed.
 
She hated calling Ted at home, but knew his office line automatically forwarded to Emergency Services after hours.
 
She couldn’t risk having too many people involved.

As she waited for him to answer, she noticed Rocky down the hall standing guard at her bedroom door.
 
Poor boy.
 
He didn’t know what to make of their visitor after it being only the two of them for so many months.
 

Ted Stamens’ chipper hello came through the receiver.
 

“Ted, this is Jill Proffit,” she said, her false name rolling easily off her tongue.
 

“Jill, it’s good to hear from you.
 
I, uh, I’ve been meaning to call.
 
I haven’t seen you in town lately.”

She grimaced.
 
Here it comes again
.
 

She’d been dodging Ted for weeks.
 
After stitching a nasty cut on her left hand a month ago, he asked her out every time their paths crossed in town.
 
He was a very nice man, handsome too, but with her life ensconced in danger, she simply couldn’t handle any sort of involvement.
 

She needed to cut the conversation off and quick.
 
A man in need of medical attention lay in her bed.
 
A man who needed to remain as invisible and anonymous as possible, just as she did.

“I’ve been busy.
 
Listen, I need your help.
 
I have a friend visiting, and he’s hurt himself.
 
I think he needs stitches, only I can’t get him into town.
 
He keeps blacking out, and he’s too big for me to move.
 
Would it be possible for you to make a house call?”
 

She cringed at the hint of fear and desperation in her voice as she nervously danced from foot to foot.
 
With the cabin being so isolated and out of the way, she feared Ted would insist on sending an ambulance.
 
That would more than likely blow her guest’s cover, whatever it was, and it wouldn’t do hers much good either.
 

Located in the middle of Francis Marion National Forest, miles from Gator Creek, miles from anywhere, the cabin suited her needs perfectly.
 
Two hundred and fifty thousand acres of lush dense forest along South Carolina’s Intracoastal Waterway surrounded her, making her hideaway virtually invisible to the rest of the world.
 
Only an occasional hiker or hunter who’d veered off one of the many trails through the wood ever passed by.
 
She made sure to stay inside then, never showing her face.
 
Not once had anyone ever knocked on her door, and she believed the sound of Rocky’s growls and barks kept them from being too nosy.
 

She emerged from her hiding place only when she went into Gator Creek for supplies or to stop by the post office, and then Rocky was always with her, keeping people at a safe distance.
 
Except for Ted.

His suddenly very professional voice startled her.
 
“Of course I can make a house call.
 
It’s not a problem.
 
Are there any other symptoms?”

She unwound the phone cord, her fingers a stunning shade of blue.
 
Shaking her hand to get the circulation flowing again, she said, “There’s a cut at his temple, and he has a low-grade fever.
 
I’ve already checked him for ticks and a rash, but didn’t find any.
 
I thought it might be Spotted Fever.”

“When did this happen?”

“I’m not sure.
 
He decided to go hiking a few days ago.
 
He only got back today.”
 
She cursed herself for not coming up with a full story before dialing the phone.
 
Her stumbling would raise suspicion if she wasn’t careful.

“I see.
 
In that case, I doubt he has Spotted Fever.
 
The incubation period is five to seven days.
 
Is the cut on his head where he needs stitches?”

Her face flushed red as Ted’s words sank in.
 
Travis couldn’t have Spotted Fever.
 
She didn’t have to check him
everywhere
.
 
The sight of him laid out on her bed, and her looking
—

“Jill?”

“Huh?
 
Oh, no.
 
I put a butterfly bandage on his forehead.
 
It’s his leg.
 
There’s a, um, a large gash, and it looks like he lost a good deal of blood.
 
I cleaned it up as best I could and wrapped it with gauze.”
 
How was she going to explain a bullet hole in his leg?
   

“You did the right thing.
 
I doubt he has a concussion since he made it back to your place on his own.
 
It’s most likely dehydration and shock.
 
I’ll pack my bag and be there as quickly as I can.
 
Don’t worry.”

After giving him directions to the cabin, she hung up the phone and said a few more prayers.
 
She seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

After dragging her weary body into the living room, she stoked up the fire.
 
A storm system, hovering over the coast, was dumping enough rain on the area to make her consider carving a boat instead of her imaginary creatures.
 

The switch from her once hectic life as an Art Dealer to a reclusive Artisan took some getting used to, but it allowed her to pursue one of her heart’s fondest dreams, woodcarving.
 

Her grandfather, who taught her how to handle the various tools, had nurtured her love of the craft.
 
Working with the wood, creating the fairies and elves that teased the corners of her imagination along with other fanciful creatures, soothed her spirit and kept her focused on the positive.
 
And somehow it brought her closer to her grandfather when she carved.
 
She always felt as though his spirit was hovering over her shoulder helping to guide her hand.

A chill stole into the room.
 
The temperature must have dropped.
 
That combined with the storm made for tornado weather.
 

“Perfect,” she grumbled, vigorously poking at the fire.

She hated the unpredictability of spring and the tumultuous weather that often came with it, but mostly she just hated storms.
 
Her body jolted with every clap of thunder and cringed with every flash of lightening, but the wind frightened her the most.
 
The sound of trees creaking and popping as their heavy branches bowed toward the earth made her feel like the world was caving in on itself with her standing alone in its center.

Turning from the hearth, she glanced toward the bedroom.
 
But she wasn’t alone tonight.
 
She had Rocky and an unsettling piece of her past lying in her bed.
 

Moving to the doorway of her bedroom, she watched Travis sleep.
 

“Why are you here?” she whispered.
 
Had he been looking for her?
 
If so, how did he know where to find her?
 
No one, except Uncle Joe, knew where she was.
 
Not even Jason.
 
Could it be a coincidence?
 

She snorted softly.
 
“Right.
 
Sure.
 
A coincidence.”
 
Rocky nudged her dangling fingers.
 
“I’m okay, boy.
 
Just worried and thoroughly confused.”

Several minutes later, her four-legged companion moved to the front of the cabin and barked.
 
Bobbi opened the front door a crack and peered outside.
 
A mid-size sedan that had seen more than its share of miles sat in the gravel driveway.
 
The driver stepped out, and she immediately recognized Ted Stamens.
 
His sandy brown hair and lanky form unfolded from the car with a hurried grace.

Opening the door wider and giving Rocky the command to stay and be quiet, she stepped out onto the covered porch.

Ted’s long legs took the steps three at a time.
 
He stood in front of her before the screen door had time to close.
 
His wire-rimmed glasses and navy shirt were speckled with rain.
 
He hadn’t even taken the time to put on a jacket.
 

“How’s your friend doing?” Ted asked.

“The same.
 
He hasn’t come around again since I called you.”
 

Rocky growled as she showed Ted inside.
 
Snagging her protector by the collar, she pulled him from her bedroom doorway.
 
Not an easy task.
 

“It’s all right, Rock,” she said softly.
 
What had her big hairy friend so upset?
 
He knew Ted.
 

She looked at Travis, his chest rising and falling with deep even breaths.
 
Was Rocky guarding him?
 
Did he realize he was hurt and couldn’t protect himself?
   

Ted stepped into the room and immediately began his examination.
 
Watching as he checked Travis’ eyes and the cut at the side of his temple, she sat in a chair across the room, her hand still clutching Rocky’s collar, praying she’d made the right decision.
 

Ted pulled a stethoscope from his bag and slipped it around his neck.
 
“What’s his name?”

“Mark.
 
Mark Schuster.
 
He came down for a visit and a little vacation.”
 
She hoped Travis wouldn’t wake up and completely ruin the story she had concocted.

Nodding, he pulled the covers down and folded them at Travis’ waist and placed the stethoscope against his chest.
 
A moment later he moved to his leg.
 
Taking in a deep breath, Ted exhaled slowly as he straightened.
 

He knew.
 
She could tell by the look in his eyes as he turned toward her.

“This isn’t a gash.
 
It’s a gunshot wound,” he said.

“That’s what I was afraid of, but I wasn’t sure.
 
He mumbled something about hunters and being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
 
But he was so out of it when he got back, I couldn’t quite make out what he was trying to tell me.”
 

She hoped above all hopes that the story sounded convincing.
 
Ted would realize it wasn’t hunting season, but illegal hunting did happen from time to time.
 
He had to believe her.
 
Their safety depended on it.
 

He turned to his bag and pulled out a syringe.

She forced the words passed the fear clogging her throat.
 
“Is he going to be all right?”

“He was lucky.
 
It went through the outer edge of his thigh without striking any bone.
 
He has various other lacerations, but there doesn’t seem to be any serious damage.”
 
He injected what she believed to be a local anesthetic into Travis’ thigh.
 

The inert form lying on her bed moved.
 
Both Ted and Bobbi looked up to find malevolent deep blue eyes staring at them.
 

Afraid he’d say something to contradict her story, she hurried to the side of the bed and took his hand.
 
His chilled fingers in hers, she blocked his view of Ted as his dark eyes latched onto hers, holding her captive.
 

“You’re going to be all right,” she said softly.
 
“Doctor Stamens is here.”
 
She looked pleadingly at Travis to be silent.

“Mr. Schuster, you really need to go to the hospital,” Ted said.

Travis’ face scrunched up.
 
She could see the confusion in his stormy gaze, but he had to see.
 
He had to understand they were on the same side.
 
She should have told him who she was earlier.
 
She shouldn’t have taken such a risk.

“No hospital,” he said roughly.

She smiled softly at his glare.
 
He obviously remembered telling her not to call a doctor and wasn’t too happy she had disobeyed him, but it was for his own good.
 
At least he hadn’t said anything about his new identity, which supported her theory that he was indeed working undercover.

“I’ll take care of him, Ted,” she said, never letting her gaze stray from Travis’.
 

“Very well,” Ted said with a sigh.
 
“But I don’t agree with this.
 
He really needs to be hospitalized.”

“Just tell me what to do.”
 
She glanced over her shoulder, momentarily breaking the intense contact.
 
“Please, Ted.”